Scratch
by enochian-sigil
Summary: A frustrated Dean accidentally summons Castiel with his thoughts...


_I just found this whilst sorting through the documents on my laptop, and realised I'd never done anything with it. So here you go - the closest thing to smut I've ever written. Hope you like, and if you do, chucking a review in my general direction would be very much appreciated ^_^_

* * *

Dean shifted restlessly on his rough motel room sheets. It was about midnight and Sam was out keeping an eye on a vamp nest they'd caught the trail of a couple of weeks ago. Dean had been with him, but his constant fidgeting and general tautness had made Sam kick him out of the Impala, a very rare occurrence, so he had walked back to the motel.

It's not exactly like Dean could tell Sam what was going on. It's not like he was about to tell Sam all about the dreams he'd been having for weeks – a dark stare, hands above his head, nerves on fire, and pleasure coursing through his veins. Fuck, the siblings barely told each other about life-or-death situations concerning demons and the king of hell, so wet dreams were completely out of the question. It wasn't as if Dean had never had that kind of dream before, in fact, he'd had plenty of them. Even ones in which he was submitting, so that wasn't new either. The detail that had him on edge, the lightest touch making his brain spin and his throat constantly dry, was that the other person in his dream, the person he was submitting to, wasn't actually a person so much as an angel. _His_ angel. The angel of Thursday. Castiel.

The name made his eyes jolt open. He sat up and ran a hand across his forehead and up through his hair. He was sweating. Standing, Dean walked to the sink, turned the cold tap on full blast and cupped his hands under the stream. Splashing the rapidly cooling water over his face, he shivered and, liking the diversion of his attention, hooked one thumb under the hem of his t-shirt, and pulled it over his head. Quickly and carelessly, with no real aim in mind except numbing the thoughts revolving again and again with cold, he rubbed the now freezing water into his skin. Eventually, he turned the tap off and looked down at himself. Rivulets of water ran down his chest and soaked into the waistband of his jeans, turning the material a darker colour. He walked back over to his bed, discarding his balled up t-shirt on the floor, and sat down in the centre of the bed, legs bent in front of him, head dropped and still spinning.

The flapping of wings echoed around the room. Dean scrambled to grab something, anything, before catching Castiel's eyes and freezing.

"Hello Dean."

Dean's eyes widened, and he remained silent, mind finally blank, but not for the right reasons.

"You called for me."

"I... I _what_? No, no I didn't!" The words came out of Dean's mouth in a more indignant tone that he would have liked, but fuck if he did _not_ need this particular angel standing in front of him right now.

"Yes, you did. Your thoughts were quite persistent."

"My, my thoughts... You... Huh..."

"Yes Dean."

The angel moved forwards, knees bending to climb upon the bed. He moved forwards on his knees until he was straddling Dean's waist. Dean's mind was spinning, he couldn't comprehend what was happening. Cas had heard his thoughts and, what? He was making them come true? Since when had angels turned into gift-granting fairy god mothers? Dean shook his head, trying to regain some presence of mind. He looked up into Castiel's eyes, now far closer to him, and ran his own down the angel's still fully dressed figure before returning them to the look being directed at him; dark but calm, with undertones of power and desire. He raised one hand to rest against Dean's bare chest, and pushed him back against the rough sheets. He circled each hand around one of Dean's wrists and brought them up to above his head, holding each down, shoulder width apart. Dean knew that he couldn't move, but couldn't help trying, just to prove to himself he was truly immobilised. But Cas didn't do anything. He just hovered over Dean's body, looking into his eyes, trenchcoat falling down on either side of him. Dean breathed out heavily, surprised to find a small whimper of want fall out with it. He looked down and bit his lip, looking back up into his angel's eyes.

"Please," he finally whispered, "I need, I need you to..."

Cas cocked his head slightly to one side, before releasing Dean's wrists. Dean went to complain, that wasn't what he wanted, wasn't what he needed, when Cas' hand returned to his chest. Nails dug into his chest and scraped downwards vertically to his stomach. Hot pain burnt from each of the four red streaks being raised on his skin. They filtered down and entered his body as pleasure, coursing up and down, making his back arch towards the sensation and a groan tumble across his lips.

He breathed out, falling back to the bed, opening his eyes and looking into Castiel's. The same calm stare looked back at him. The corner of the angel's mouth twitched, and Dean smiled inwardly. He craned his neck upwards as much as he could without having to sit up, and breathed across Castiel's lips. Gently, he ran his tongue across them and slowly licked his way into his mouth. Castiel breathed heavily against Dean, and somehow, Dean could taste his happiness, even if it was invisible to see. Sensuously, carefully, dirtily, they embraced.

_oOoOoOo_

Next to the bed, the door opened. Sam walked in, mouth open to say something that withered away as his eyes took in the scene in front of him. Dean flat out on his bed, Castiel on top of him, too close to be doing anything but what they were obviously doing. But not so close, and Sam cursed this fact for years to come, that he couldn't see the red marks streaked across his brother's chest, some mere scratches, and some stained darker with what had to be blood. His entrance had apparently gone unnoticed, if the low, sexual growls coming from Cas' throat were anything to go by.

"I'll just, I'll be, fuck." Sam turned his back and shut the door, hoping against hope they would never know and this memory could be purged from his skull.

Walking away, not to anywhere, just _away_, Sam debated the possibility of convincing Death to construct another wall in his mind, just so that he could regain the dear departed ignorance he had once had, of his brother (and his what, angel-in-law?)'s sex life.


End file.
